


Appreciative

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless, Partying, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is unbearable, this constant slide of too-friendly fingers and too-warm smiles, until all Laxus’s hopes of waiting until the end of the night have simplified into waiting for an opportune distraction." Freed is affectionate when he's tipsy, and Laxus finds it frustrating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appreciative

Freed is a tease when he’s drunk.

Laxus is aware, on some distant, rational level, that he can hardly hold the other man responsible for his actions at this point in the night. He’s been there for the most-of-a-bottle-of-wine Freed has drunk, has been the one quietly refilling the other’s glass every time it runs low, and it’s not like he really minds the way Freed gets warm and languid against his shoulder as he gets more and more intoxicated. The problem is partially that they are in the main space of the guild hall, and more that Freed’s fingers keep sliding in sideways on Laxus’s thigh, and most that he then pulls away with a slurred apology and a laugh so warm and delighted that it sets Laxus’s blood alight. Anything else he could take, he thinks -- Freed’s usual stiff self-consciousness, maybe, or the chaste barely-there touches they sometimes exchange under the cover of a table or in a moment of distraction -- but this is unbearable, this constant slide of too-friendly fingers and too-warm smiles, until all Laxus’s hopes of waiting until the end of the night have simplified into waiting for an opportune distraction. 

It comes sooner than he could have hoped for and after longer than he had wished. Gray is a good source of distraction, the better with Natsu in the room, and no sooner has the ice mage’s shirt come off than Laxus is reaching for Freed’s wrist, closing his fingers tight on the fragile bones. Freed sucks in a breath of surprise, turns in towards him just as Natsu shouts some kind of challenge and the room begins to dissolve into precisely the chaos Laxus has been waiting for.

 _Come with me_ , he could say, doesn’t. He doesn’t have to put words to it; Freed is tipping in towards him, aligning himself to Laxus like a flower tilting towards the sun, and Laxus doesn’t even have to catch his eye to know Freed will follow when he slides sideways off the bench to cross the room and take the stairs to the second level two at a time.

There’s no one up here. There almost never is; there’s only a handful of the other mages who are allowed up here in the first place, and fewer who choose to take advantage of it. Usually the second floor is Laxus’s domain, clear for him to use as he sees fit, and the same is true tonight. He could look down, check to see Erza trying to insert herself between the budding fight between Natsu and Gray, or to make sure Mirajane is still behind the bar where she always is. He doesn’t. That he is certain of, enough to make such conscientiousness unnecessary, and Freed is squinting at the space around them and pushing his free hand through his hair and starting to form the shape of a protest.

“Laxus,” and that is warm, as much a taunting invitation as everything else Freed has done tonight. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be up here, Laxus.”

He’s not wrong. Technically Freed shouldn’t be up here at all, should never have crossed the boundary to the first step of the staircase. But the alcohol that is making Freed warm and languid is leaving Laxus tense and desperate, as if they’re switched personalities with the addition of intoxication, and as Freed smiles drowsily up at him Laxus is the one who reaches out to grab at the weight of his hair and crush the startled sound of shock against the pressure of his mouth.

Freed takes like wine, sweet and rich and heavy with alcohol, and he’s not offering the least resistance, stumbles backwards when Laxus shoves his shoulders to get him out of clear line of sight from the floor below. He’s opening his mouth, maybe to speak and maybe to protest and maybe just in invitation, and Laxus assumes the last, slides his tongue past Freed’s lips to lick against the roof of his mouth and the warmth of his tongue. Freed is making a noise, now, some high-pitched whine as he arches in closer, and then his shoulders hit the wall and Laxus lets his hand slide down, spreads his fingers wide against the small of Freed’s back to pull him in closer before he pulls back from the other’s mouth.

“You’re a tease when you’re drunk,” he says, careful and quiet but no less steady for the low volume. Freed blinks at him, tips his head back so the wall can take his weight, and when he speaks his mouth is soft and confused on the words until Laxus almost believes them.

“What?” His lack of understanding would be more plausible if he weren’t rocking forward to press himself in closer against Laxus’s hips, if he weren’t hot straight through the barrier of fabric until the contact of his body burns like an open flame. “I’m not teasing you.”

“You’re not now,” Laxus agrees, and drops his hand to press his fingers in against the front of Freed’s pants. The lack of warning is worth it for how hot Freed is against his palm, for the way the other’s expression falls slack and shocked as he groans and arches himself forward against Laxus’s fingers. He’s loud, he’s too loud, and Laxus is already holding him against the wall with his other hand; the only thing to do is to lean in, cover Freed’s mouth with his to catch the telltale sounds spilling from his throat while Laxus digs his palm in harder against the hard-flushed heat inside Freed’s clothes.

“A tease,” he says again as he pulls back for a moment, more to see the way Freed’s dark eyelashes shadow out over his cheek than because he needs to catch his breath yet. “Are you always gonna get like this when you’re drunk?”

“I’m not drunk,” Freed insists. He’s rocking in against Laxus’s hand; Laxus is fairly certain he wouldn’t still be upright but for the brace of the blond’s hold at his shoulder. “Pleasantly tipsy, sure.”

“You’re drunk,” Laxus says, clear and low, leans in closer so he’s shoving Freed back against the wall by the hand pressed in flush against his pants. “And you’re a  _tease_.”

“Oh,” Freed says, faint and stunned. Laxus can feel the way his knees go shaky, the way his weight slumps heavy against the wall. “Am I?”

“Yeah.” Laxus can feel the word going heavy on his tongue, hot with the hours of frustrated patience under Freed’s glancing touch. “Definitely.”

“Okay,” Freed admits without any protest. He’s reaching for Laxus’s shoulder, his hand sliding farther in than he would normally have the courage for, but intoxication and unsteadiness both combine to push his hand in against the side of Laxus’s neck, to settle his fingers hot on the bare skin above the blond’s collar. “If you say so.” It’s not sarcastic, the way it might be on someone else’s lips; it’s complete capitulation, Freed as quick to succumb to Laxus’s declaration as he was to submit to the pressure of the other’s touch. It makes Laxus  _burn_ , the power of surging through him more effective than alcohol in hazing his thoughts. He can still hear the party below, the rest of the guild just out of sight and the raucous laughter promising them a few minutes of cover, or at least plausible enough belief in such.

“Quiet,” he says, clear against Freed’s ear, leans in close enough that the fine strands of the other’s hair catch at his lips. Freed takes a breath of understanding, nods like he’s heard, but when Laxus glances at his face his cheeks are flushed so red Laxus can’t be sure the other will remember where they  _are_ , in a moment. It’s an awkward angle to reach across so he can fit his hand over Freed’s mouth to muffle whatever sound he might forget to hold back, but it makes Freed’s eyes flutter, makes him swallow hard and go hotter under the press of Laxus’s palm. Laxus doesn’t offer further explanation; it’s easier to act than to speak, especially under the circumstances. He slides Freed down the wall, drops to his knees and pulls the other with him, until they’re both half-behind the cover of a table. Laxus’s shoulders are mostly blocking them from the view of the stairs, just in case anyone does decide to venture up here, and it’s easy to push away the concern, to devote all his attention to getting Freed’s clothes off.

Freed’s jacket is too long, buttons all the way down past his hips, but it’s easy to unfasten it up to his waist, past where he would be wearing his belt had he not left his sword somewhere by the front of the guild in consideration of the party atmosphere. Freed’s whining by the time Laxus fumbles his coat half-open, rocking up off the floor as if the blond needs more encouragement to continue, and whatever intention he had of staying quiet has melted away under the heat Laxus can feel radiating off his skin. His shirt is silk-soft, clinging to the sharp lines of his chest, and if they had the time Laxus would love to pull his coat the rest of the way open, peel that soft silk right off Freed’s body so he can replace the glide of the fabric with the heat of his mouth. But that will be impossible to excuse if they are interrupted, no matter how he tries, and they have to get back down to the party as soon as they can, so he contents himself with a growl of denied want and reaches for the front of Freed’s pants instead. The fastenings slide loose under his fingers, easing the tension in the fabric, and Freed is panting against the cover of Laxus’s palm, shivering against the wall at his shoulders.

Laxus glances back at the stairs, one more last-ditch attempt to check for interruptions before he gives up on care entirely; there’s no dip in the sound from below, no indication of anyone coming up after them. He turns back, presses in so close Freed’s jacket catches against his shirt, and suggests, “Quiet,” one more time as he adjusts the hand covering Freed’s mouth and pushes his fingers down under the cover of the other’s clothes. Freed jerks against the wall as Laxus’s palm bumps in against the slick-hot head of his cock, his eyelashes fluttering as he groans muffled sound against Laxus’s hold on his mouth. His breath is warm, as damp against Laxus’s hand as his length is against the other’s fingers, and Laxus leans in harder, more to inhale the radiant heat bleeding off Freed’s shaking form than because he actually needs to urge him quieter. His fingers fit against the other’s cock, drag rushed sensation over him, and it would be better to have Freed shaking under him and it would be better to have the time to take this slowly, but this is fine too, they always have later in the night for more. This is just quick relief, the stutter of adrenaline pounding in Laxus’s chest and the quiver of Freed under his hands like a teaser for what’s to come later. He can feel every flush of heat through the other’s body, can see the high color of pleasure superseding the alcohol-induced blush over Freed’s cheeks under the shadow of the lashes of his shut eyes.

“Freed,” Laxus says, low and humming in his chest. Freed is arching against the wall, rocking hard into the strokes of Laxus’s hand like he’s trying to speed the motion, and Laxus humors him, shifts his weight and moves his hand faster, coaxes another spill of slick pre-come from the other’s length. Freed whimpers against the hand over his lips, his fingers slipping low under Laxus’s shirt collar, and Laxus says again “ _Freed_ ,” harder and more insistent with command. Freed blinks at that, opens his eyes so Laxus can see the blue gone hazy and hot with sensation, and Laxus lets out a breath of purring pleasure.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, quiet but resonant with intensity. Freed’s gaze goes wide for a moment; then he nods, quick and jerky, and Laxus strokes faster still, until Freed stops arching in to meet him, until all the other can do is fall boneless against the wall and pant for breath over Laxus’s hold on his mouth. He manages to keep his eyes open, even as his fingers are working over Laxus’s shoulder for traction he can’t find, and then his hold goes slack and his eyes go out-of-focus, just for the moment it takes for Laxus to twist his hand and pull the shudder of orgasm from him. There’s a muffled groan against the blond’s palm, sound to match the heartbeat pulse of heat against his fingers, and then Freed goes quiet, his head against the wall and eyes open but unfocused as he shivers through the last aftershocks of pleasure.

Laxus doesn’t says anything when he pulls his hand away from Freed’s mouth. The other’s lips are damp from the moisture of breathing so close against the other’s palm, his mouth open on shuddery pleasure he can’t call back, but he doesn’t need to be told to pull his clothes back into place, moving as quickly as he can manage with shaky hands and unsteady fingers. Laxus’s hand is sticky when he pulls away -- better than staining Freed’s clothes, at least, and easy enough to lick clean when nothing else immediately presents itself. Laxus doesn’t think much of it -- it’s a solution to a problem, the easiest way to clean up the bitter-sticky spill over his skin. But then he realizes Freed has stopped moving, and when Laxus glances back at the other there’s a shadow of shock over the blue of his eyes, some breathless amazement like Laxus is doing something all that remarkable in the first place, and his blood flashes instantly to steam under that expression.

Laxus doesn’t pause to figure out how much time has passed. As far as he’s concerned there’s no question of hesitating now, and from the haze in Freed’s eyes, the way his lips fall open like an invitation, the other is in complete agreement on this. Laxus sucks his fingers clean, reaches out to brace himself on the wall and come up over his knees, and Freed doesn’t ask, doesn’t show so much as a flicker of hesitation. Laxus is the one who looks back over his shoulder at the stairs, checks for any newcomers while he reaches out without looking to slide his fingers into Freed’s hair. The other is breathing hard, anxious with adrenaline, but his hands are dexterous, working Laxus’s jeans open so fast the blond has barely looked back from his last check before Freed is ducking his head to take Laxus’s cock back into his mouth. Laxus can feel the quick rush of Freed’s breathing against his skin, the too-fast movement of his mouth, but mostly he can feel the warmth, the slick of his tongue and lips closing over sensitive skin, the instant gratification almost worth the hours of lead-in downstairs. His fingers make a tangled fist of Freed’s smooth hair, drag the other in closer, and it would be painful if Freed weren’t already ducking in farther in advance of Laxus’s urging, swallowing him back as desperately as if he’s been aching for this contact as much as Laxus. His hands flutter into a hold at the blond’s hips, brace his own angle more than pull at Laxus, and then he’s moving as fast as Laxus could wish, rushed and sloppy and glorious, sparking the other’s blood blistering until he doesn’t care if someone comes up, can’t even be bothered to glance to see if the slick sound of Freed’s mouth on his length is too telltale. It’s certainly all Laxus can hear, the almost-rhythm of the motion perfect counterpoint to his heartbeat, and he’s leaning more heavily on the wall, staring down at the blissful relaxation all across Freed’s face as he tightens his lips and trails his tongue up against the underside of Laxus’s cock. That’s enough to stick Laxus’s breathing tight in his chest, to almost drag a moan from his mouth, and then Freed glances up and dips his head in for more and Laxus sighs out a low purr of satisfaction and comes, the pleasure uncoiling into his veins with the heavy drag of tipsiness to pull the satisfaction long and resonant in him.

He’s still humming with the languid warmth of physical satisfaction when Freed pulls back, coughs and swallows and glances up at Laxus’s face. It’s easy to unwind his fingers, to smooth out his touch to sweep the other’s hair back into some semblance of order. Freed laughs short and surprised, reaches up to take over the process, and Laxus leaves it to him, rocks back so he can refasten his jeans and shrug his shirt back into passable tidiness. Laxus isn’t sure what Freed does, exactly, but when he looks back the other is twisting the end of his long hair back into its tie, managing to look tidier than he did when Laxus half-dragged him up the stairs, and that’s good enough.

“Let’s go,” Laxus orders, getting to his feet and reaching for Freed’s wrist to pull him upright too. Freed’s unsteady on his feet, as Laxus half-expected him to be; the alcohol still in his system combined with the effect of pleasure has left him all but unable to stand, much less navigate the stairs. Laxus shifts his hold higher, takes a grip on Freed’s arm instead, and when they start down the stairs it’s with Laxus steadying both of them into a safe level of balance.

It’s easy to just keep his hold once they get to the main guild hall, where no one seems to have noticed either their disappearance or their return. Freed is still unsteady, or trembling at least, and after a moment he slides his arm back, carefully curls his fingers in to interlace with Laxus’s. It’s a tentative hold, until Laxus tightens his grasp and presses Freed’s hand flush against his. He’s not nearly as frustrated anymore -- the uncomfortable tension of want is gone, now, faded into the blissful lull of satisfaction. It leaves him free to appreciate the simple pleasure of Freed’s hand against his, almost as much as he appreciates the way it makes Freed look up at him like he’s just offered the other something magical and valuable.

Laxus has decided that he likes Freed drunk, after all.


End file.
